Elf Midwife
by SonataUndine
Summary: Thorin never thought he would have to play midwife to an elf, and Elrond isn't exactly keen on the idea either. Alternate version of the company's visit to Rivendell. Mpreg.


Elrond was panting quickly, but steadily, one hand absently gripping his injured shoulder. He was sitting upon a large robe, the only thing separating him from the dirt floor of the underground cavern he and Thorin were holed up in.

"That's it, keep breathing," Thorin said, uselessly. "Your elf-kin will be here any minute to slay those orcs and take you back to Rivendell."

Elrond responded with a low moan. "I-I don't think I can make it back to Imladris at this point. I may need to deliver here."

"That is not an option," Thorin said. "You will not make an elf-midwife out of me! You are forbidden to push until you are back among your own kind, and that is final." The words were spoken without an ounce of humor, but Elrond smiled nonetheless.

"I would be happy to follow your orders, master Dwarf, but I'm afraid my child does not have the same manners that I do."

Thorin's face was dead serious. "Don't. Push."

"I will not be able to fight it much longer," the Elf said, the smile disappearing from his face. "Believe me, this is the last place I wanted to do this, and, while I am happy not to be alone, you are not exactly my first choice in companionship." Elrond winced and curled in on himself, panting again. "_Ai!_ This is more difficult than I had expected!"

"Have you not three other children?" Thorin asked, puzzled.

"Four," Elrond automatically corrected, softly. "My wife, Celebrian…" His eyes grew misty, for no amount of time would ever heal the wound her absence left in him. "Celebrian birthed my twin sons, and my daughter many years later."

"And the fourth?"

Elrond smiled. "He is my nephew, though I think of him as my own. The lad is still a child, scarcely ten years old."

"Then you have never done this before," Thorin said, suddenly a lot more worried than he was five minutes ago. Elrond shook his head, his face scrunched up in pain once again. His breathing was becoming louder and more panicked.

"The child is low, master Dwarf. Would you be willing to help me undress?" Elrond asked, trying his best to remain calm.

The simple answer was "no." Thorin was far from willing to participate in any part of this ordeal happening before him. But he took pity on the Elf, for it was obvious that assistance was needed. Thorin may have disliked elves, but he wasn't heartless. He reached out and helped Elrond remove soft breeches and undergarments, leaving the long tunic in place.

"Thank you," Elrond said, earnestly. "My shoulder has become very stiff; that task would have been impossible without you."

"You can thank me by not pushing," Thorin said, once again taking a seat opposite from the Elf. Elrond nodded.

"I will hold out as long as I can."

Thorin sighed, heavily. How had he gotten stuck in this awful situation in the first place?

* * *

_24 hours earlier…_

_"If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact and respect, and no small degree of charm…which is why you will leave the talking to me."_

"That is what I said, is it not?" Gandalf said, his anger seeming to fill the small room that was to be Thorin's chambers for the time being.

"Word for word," Thorin responded, at once annoyed and bored of Gandalf constantly harping on his every word and action.

"Then why, Thorin son of Thráin, were the first words from your mouth chosen specifically to antagonize our generous host?"

"I wasn't trying to antagonize him," Thorin said, half-truthfully. "I was merely commenting on something I found peculiar."

"You told him you had 'never seen a fat elf before,' moments after he greeted you respectfully by name."

Thorin smiled at the memory. "Father would be proud."

"Your father was a mad fool!" Gandalf roared. Thorin winced at the insult and fell silent. Gandalf shook his head, and his tangible anger seemed to fade, making the room seem more spacious than it did moments ago. "Forgive me, that was unkind," the wizard said, gently. He sat beside Thorin on the freshly made bed. "If it was not obvious, let me inform you that you may inform the rest of your companions: The Lord of Rivendell is with child. That is, of course, why his midsection is rounded while he otherwise remains slender."

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Gandalf interrupted, "Not now, Thorin. I am in no mood to answer the questions of a curious dwarf tonight. Just understand that it is a long, confusing story that is Elrond's to tell, not mine. Now, you will act your age and apologize to him in the morning, is that clear?"

_"Not in a thousand ages,"_ Thorin wanted to say, but he nodded curtly instead. He was ready for this conversation to be over with.

"Good. Now, get some rest. The elves are going orc-hunting again in the morning. As we are the ones who led the orcs so close to the border, I think it is only right that some of us go with them, as a sign of good faith. Is that acceptable to you?"

Thorin nodded again. He certainly didn't mind killing orcs.

"As long as the elves stay out of my way. And I will _not_ be riding a horse."

"Yes, yes, of course," Gandalf said, absently, as he stood up. "Well then, until tomorrow."

"Yes, until tomorrow."

Thorin waited until Gandalf was gone to lie back on the soft, cool bedclothes and chuckle quietly to himself.

_"__Child or no child…I saw a fat elf today!"_


End file.
